Letters for My Daughter
by AmboDriver
Summary: This story is a series of letters that Arizona writes for Sofia, starting shortly after the plane crash, to explain to her daughter what happened and the impacts it has had on their family. The story is only guaranteed to follow through season 8 but may bring in stuff from season 9 as well. ** Currently on Hold, May Not Be Continued **
1. June 8, 2012

**Letters for My Daughter**

**By AmboDriver**

**Disclaimer:** As usual, I don't own anything. The characters and such are all owned by Shondaland, ABC, and probably a lot of other really rich folks.

**A/N****: **This is my take on how I think things after the Season 8 plane crash might go. I'm basing a few things on rumors and such, but mostly this just follows the show up through the end of Season 8 and then goes from there into my own thoughts of what could happen.

Each chapter is a letter (with the date being the title). Some might be long and some will be quite short (like this one). It starts this past summer and will go on until I'm done. I'm not sure how this will go and it's really just a chance for me to play with my own ideas for the aftermath. Hopefully you guys will like the premise and be able to follow the story (it won't exactly be linear).

Let me know what you think.

And I promise I'll keep updating my other story (albeit slowly). This is just a fun (and usually quick) diversion when I need to be a little more dark and angsty.

* * *

**June 8, 2012**

Dear Sofia,

I'm guessing by the date, you know this letter is being written just a few weeks after the crash. I'm finally stable enough that everyone is worried about my mental health as much as they are my physical health, so I started seeing one of the great psychiatrists at the hospital. She suggested that I write a diary to help process my thoughts, but that seemed too focused on me, and I've never been very good about analyzing myself.

And then I thought I'd rather write letters to you. Well, really to your future self, I guess, since you're only 14 months old right now. I'm hoping someday when you're older and have questions that you'll be able to read these letters and find some answers and maybe learn something from what I've gone through and will likely go through in the future. I'm sure some of these letters will be pretty hard to read, but hopefully not all of them. I just want to promise that I'll try to be truthful, even if I can't always write something happy. Because if there's one silver lining that can come out of all this tragedy, it should be that our kids learn something from us and maybe become better human beings because of it.

Right now things are just so incredibly strange. I suppose I'm still in quite a bit of shock. For the first few weeks I was mostly sedated and had to undergo a number of surgeries. It's only in the last week that I've been awake and trying to come to terms with everything. It still just feels like it happened to someone else, even though all I have to do is look down to where my leg used to be and know it is all too real. And yet I'm surprisingly numb, and not just physically. I haven't even cried yet or truly started to grasp the changes in my life that will come after this amputation. Right now, just waking up and getting through each day is all I can manage.

Maybe that's good for now. Just like I've been numbed up with sedatives and pain killers, the emotional pain will probably be too much when it really hits, but somehow I doubt it will fade as quickly as the physical pain will. I'm hoping that before then I can tell you about our lives before the crash, so you will know who we all were, while it's still fresh in my memory. I want you to know about all of us, but especially about your father. I'm sure most of your questions will be about him, about who he was and how much he loved you (and how much you loved him). We lost him way too soon and never doubt that he adored you, Sofia. I don't want to play down his death, or Lexie's for that matter, but we all had something die in us out there on that mountain, even those of us who are still physically alive. And even those who were still in Seattle will never, ever be the same. I already see it in Mommy. There are shadows in her eyes that were never there before. She's been trying to hide it, to be strong for me and for everyone else, but it still shows.

By the way, it does occur to me that you might not call her Mommy anymore. For that matter you might not call me Mama. You may be in one of those teenager phases where you call us by our first names or maybe even just "hey you", but Mommy and Mama are who we are right now, so just go with it, okay? Even if it seems a little childish to you.

Well, this has taken me most of the day to write, on and off. I still get so exhausted very easily. I promise that I'll write more later, because I do want to talk about our family before the crash before I tell you what happened to us all out there. But that will have to wait until tomorrow. Mommy said she'd bring me some soup for dinner and she should be here any minute.

I miss you so much right now, Baby Girl (it also occurs to me you probably don't like me calling you that either). It will probably be days until I can see you. I need to be stronger and Mommy says you've got a cold right now. As if you need that on top of everything else. I know this is probably hardest on you right now. Your whole world has changed. Mama and Daddy aren't around and Mommy is probably so stressed whenever you see her, even though I know she's doing her best to be there for you when she can. And I know our friends have been doing their best to take really good care of you when Mommy can't be home. But, still, it has to be hard that you don't understand what is going on. I'm so very sorry, sweetie. You've had so much trauma in your young life when all you should have is ponies and rainbows (not real ponies, mind you, we live in an apartment).

Well, Mommy just walked in so time to go.

Always remember that I love you with all my heart.

Mama


	2. June 9, 2012

**Letters for My Daughter**

**By AmboDriver**

**Disclaimer:** As usual, I don't own anything. The characters and such are all owned by Shondaland, ABC, and probably a lot of other really rich folks.

**A/N****: **Glad a few of you are interested in this. I promise that, while it will get pretty dark pretty soon, that there will also be some really great parts down the road. I do believe in a happy ending after all.

So, tonight's the season premiere…not sure how many people will want to read this with less than 2 hours to go, but I'm putting it out there. Want to get my version of the events set in digital ink before we start to learn what really happened on the show.

And now on to the second letter…I'm thinking about adding letters from Callie down the road, but for now it's still all Arizona.

**June 9, 2012**

Dear Sofia,

Mommy came by last night and totally approved of these letters, even if I told her she might never get to read them herself. In fact she liked the idea so much she said she might write you some when life settles down. She did ask me to call her Mom in them, though. She says she's absolutely certain that she won't want to have a teenage (or older) daughter calling her Mommy. When I told her I found that ironic coming from a 36-year old woman who still calls her father Daddy, we both had the first laugh in weeks, since even before the crash really. It felt good to laugh for those few seconds, like getting a breath of fresh air, but of course it didn't last. I'm starting to wonder if it ever will.

But it did remind me a little of how our lives used to be, and I was going to tell you about that in this letter, but then your mother offered to tell me what she went through during this whole thing. We talked for probably an hour before I was just too exhausted to go on. It was so incredibly hard to hear. But I think it's important that I tell you what she said before I forget the details. Most of these letters are going to be about me, but once you hear what she's been through, you'll know that Mom totally deserves as much attention as I can manage to give her.

You see, your mom is a superhero. She's just a freaking superhero. Sure, she wasn't on the plane and she didn't come out of this with physical injuries, but I think she's suffered as much as any of us who were in the crash. And yet she's still here every day with that bright smile on her face, trying to cheer me up and encourage me on top of taking on a bigger role at the hospital because the staff is down four senior attendings and work still needs to be done. She is running herself into the ground and, to be honest, I'm worried about her.

That's why I told her she's not allowed to come to the hospital today until noon. I want her to get some sleep and spend some time with you. I understand what is going on and you don't, so you really need to be her top priority right now. So, just know that as I'm writing this, Mom is home with you, probably making you breakfast or chasing you around the living room. She says you're running has gotten much better and you're a real fast Energizer Bunny. I can't wait to see that.

As I said, she finally told me most of what went on with her in the last few weeks. I guess I knew the highlights already, whether I remember them happening myself or someone told me, but to hear it all in one go was so hard. I remember how terrible it was when things were touch and go with both you and Mom. Not knowing how things will turn out is the worst, especially knowing all the bad things that can happen. Sometimes being a doctor makes it harder, not easier.

So, here's your mom's story, at least until now.

She was home when she got word that we were missing. I guess Owen, our chief, didn't hear for hours that we hadn't arrived in Boise. Of course as soon as he found out he got ahold of her. She had more people on that plane than anyone who was left behind. As soon as they could arrange it, they both flew to Boise, which was where the search was being run from. I really can't believe she got on a plane, but I guess even now if there was an emergency, I'd fly for you or Mom. After all, I'd do anything for either of you. But as far as I'm concerned, that's the only reason I'll ever get on an airplane again. But, I'm digressing a bit, so back to her story. They got to Boise super early the next day and I know she was terrified, because there was no word yet. But luckily she didn't have to wait long.

They found us late in the morning, which is good, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have made it through the day, let alone the next night. Mom said that word came back that one man and one woman were dead, so of course she was terrified. It wasn't until they were wheeling me and your Dad off the first helicopter that she knew we weren't among the dead (and it wasn't until much later that she found out it was Lexie and the pilot who had died). But while we were alive, we were both in horrible shape. I wasn't really lucid and I don't remember anything after talking to the paramedic from the helicopter at the crash site. And your Dad had lost consciousness that morning for the final time. He would have been dead in an hour tops if they hadn't found us then.

Maybe it would have been better if he had died out in the woods instead, out where Lexie died. I don't know. But as you know he made it to the hospital and then they had him on life support until the end. He never woke up again. I'm sure I've told you often, but right before he passed out that last time, he made me promise to tell you every day that he loves you. I'm sorry I haven't been able to do that up until now, but I'm telling you now. Your dad loved you so much and he didn't want to leave you. I promise you that.

I'm sorry if this rambles a bit, but the drugs sometimes make my brain a little foggy.

So, there's your Mom, and she's got a wife in critical condition and her best friend, who also happens to be your father, barely hanging on. I remember being torn like that, right after you were born and before your mom woke up. I wanted to be with each of you but I couldn't, so I had to do my best, but it was still almost impossible. It got even worse when word came from your dad's girlfriend that she had his medical power of attorney and he had named your mom as the person who should make decisions for him. We were really his only family, so I guess it made sense, but she still said she was surprised because he had never mentioned it.

I'm sure you know what happened then. When she and Derek determined that he was never going to be able to come off the life support and decided to turn it off, well I know that had to be the hardest thing she's ever done. They were such amazing friends and they only got closer once you were born. I can't imagine making that decision for someone I care about. I just hope she can find some peace with the decision. I can see that she knows in her head that it was the right thing to do, but it'll take her heart a lot longer to catch up.

As if that wasn't enough, she had to make the decision about my leg. They had me too doped up for me to make an informed decision, so it was all up to Mom. She didn't want to talk about the specifics last night, and I wonder if she ever will, but I told her she made the right decision. Maybe that's just this numbness I'm frantically holding on to where it still doesn't seem real. Maybe once it hits me I'll think differently.

That night out in the wreckage I remember thinking I'd probably lose my leg. The break was bad, the wound wasn't clean, and the splint that I made was really nothing more than a tourniquet with metal bars. Let me tell you that pretty much nothing hurts as much as breaking your femur and when I barely felt it after a while, I was afraid I had cut off too much of the blood supply, but to be honest at that point I didn't really care.

The nerve and muscle damage was really bad, some of the worst Mom says she's ever seen, so there really wasn't anything that could be done. Granted, your mom is about the best orthopedic surgeon in the country and she would have been able to help the surgeons at Boise fix the bone, but once tissue dies, once nerves are destroyed, they can't be replaced like a bone can. Mom's such a fighter and she doesn't like to admit she can't do something, so I know when she finally made the decision, it just about killed her. I see it in her eyes every time she comes into my room. She glances at the bed and I can see her eyes lingering where my leg should be and you can just see her barely holding it together. I wonder if she'll ever be able to look at me and not feel guilty. I think that's my biggest fear right now.

Since then, she's been splitting her time with me and at home with you while also having to work. Owen gave her a week off, but things started backing up. Besides the three of us on the plane, the head of cardio left at the same time. And then three residents were on that plane, too. One thing I've learned over the years is life doesn't stop. People die, people get sick, planes fall out of the sky, and yet Mrs. Smith still needs her gallbladder out and Timmy Rogers broke his leg and needs it set. One of the greatest challenges of medicine, and probably especially of being a surgeon, is putting your life away in a box and getting down to work. But we all do it, every day that we come into work and put on our scrubs. It's what allows us to do our jobs. Maybe that's why I'm so good at distancing myself from my injuries. I've just done what I do as a surgeon all the time.

And that's what your mother is doing, too, but she's doing it for the right reasons. I told you she was a superhero and I wasn't lying. I'm sure that you've got days where you can't stand her, that you think she's a bad parent or a bad person sometimes, but just know that when it comes down to it, you're mom is just a truly amazing person, and I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have her in my life. I hope you think that, too.

I'm getting tired and Mom should be here in about an hour, so I need to get a nap in. I want to be awake when she gets here so I can hear all about her morning with our beautiful baby girl. I'm sure the two of you are having a great time. So, until tomorrow…

Love you always,

Mama

TBC…

Mama


	3. June 10, 2012

**Letters for My Daughter**

**By AmboDriver**

**Disclaimer:** As usual, I don't own anything. The characters and such are all owned by Shondaland, ABC, and probably a lot of other really rich folks.

**A/N****: **So, obviously I'm the slightly demented fan that loves where this season is headed. Okay, it was horribly predictable (right down to the "let's make everyone think Arizona is dead and then have the amputation reveal at the last minute"), but still very psyched by all the drama.

But, damn Shonda, I was hoping to at least be original with the whole taking Mark off life support bit. She read my mind (or I read hers).

Anyway, I was going to skip the happy reminisces and jump right into plunging through darkness (yeah, that starts in the next letter), but figured after the gut kick of that last scene in the premiere, I needed to have some bitter sweet memories first…so here goes.

* * *

**June 10, 2012**

Dear Sofia,

I really feel like I'm at a point where I'm telling you to do as I say and not as I do, but I really think part of parenting is pointing out where we've made mistakes so you won't repeat them. That's why I'm going to tell you to not do what I'm doing now, which is hanging on by my fingernails to avoid really taking in what's happened. I've been avoiding thinking about my leg, looking at it, anything I can do to put it out of my mind. In fact, pretty much the only time I've mentioned it is in these letters. And even then not nearly as much as I probably should. But I just know that facing this, really taking it in, will be the hardest thing I've ever done. And to be honest, I'm terrified.

But I won't have much chance to avoid this for long. My psychiatrist gave me homework this morning. She wants me to actually look at what's left of my leg. I haven't actually looked at it except when it's under blankets or at the very least all bandaged up. Whenever someone comes to work on the wound, I close my eyes. I close my eyes whenever I have to be moved to a wheelchair or a gurney. But between the shrink getting on me and the fact that my physical therapist wants me up on crutches today, I think today could very well be the day. Maybe it's for the best, because the sooner I let myself start down this path, the sooner I'll come out the other side, right? Well, in theory anyway, but I know it's going to be a long road to come to terms with this, to realize this is my life from now on.

So, please, if you ever have something horrible that you need to face, don't do what I've been doing since I woke up. Don't close your eyes and pretend it's happening to someone else. Don't think that one morning you'll wake up and find out it was all a nightmare. Just square your shoulders and get to it. Or as your grandfather would say, "Sofia, you just need to soldier on, press through, and fight your way to victory". I'm not saying to not let yourself feel things, of course, but embrace those feelings and use those feelings to get past the low times. It'll make you stronger in the end.

Now if only I could take my own advice. I really wish I could, but I'm also a master at pushing things away and running from pain. Again, do as I say and not as I do, okay?

But it really is getting close to time to take that step off the cliff. So I want to make sure I tell you about before the crash. I'm afraid if I do take that plunge, that I'll never remember it quite the way I do now. Even now, I'm sure it's colored by what I've gone through, but I can at least still smile when I think about our life back then. So, maybe, just maybe, I'm going to be able to do this justice.

When I first met your mother, I would have told you that my life was going well. I had a job I loved and was having fun dating some really great women. I never really had thought that I'd find the one person I'd spend my life with. I was never someone who thought about marriage or children or any of that. I just wanted to enjoy my life. But Mom changed all that for me.

She and you were the two dreams I didn't even know that I had. But then I fell totally in love with Mom and then you were there and I was even more in love with you. I had married the most amazing, beautiful woman in the world, and I had you, my amazing miracle daughter that I could not have loved more if I'd carried you myself.

And we all had your dad there for us, supporting our family and being such an amazing father to you, but still giving us the space to form our own family unit. I have to admit that last part was the one thing I would have never bet on, but I think if anyone matured through you coming into our lives, it was him. You brought out this amazing quality in him and I'm glad he got to be that person before he died. It so breaks my heart that you won't get to know what an amazing man he was. He so truly loved you.

Anyway, we had finally gotten life down. We lived on the same floor as your father, right across the hall in fact. And we had decided that we'd have breakfast as a big family every morning. Whoever wasn't at work would be in our apartment, spending time with you and getting you all fed, while we also just enjoyed all being together. It was really important that all three of your parents were there as much as possible and that's why we had those mornings. Evenings were usually just Mom and me with you (if you weren't staying at your dad's), and those were the times I truly treasured, but those mornings were pretty awesome too.

Like I said, though, the evenings when you were with us were so amazing. We'd all sit on the floor and play with you. It was a great time for Mom and I to talk about our days or something more important like our vacation plans or what school we want you to go to. After our play time, we'd all sit down for dinner together. That was something that we both think is really important, and I hope we're still doing it when you read this.

After all that would come my favorite time of the day—bed time. I love sitting with you on my lap in your rocking chair and telling you stories while your eyes start to droop. And then there is this magic moment when you just slip into sleep. You just sigh and relax, curling a little into my arms. I hope that someday you get to experience that. I had no idea before you were born how amazing it would be to have you there in my arms at night, to know that you trust me so completely that you'd fall asleep in my arms. But now that I know, it chokes me up just to think about that bond we've built.

Most nights I'd put you in your crib and just stand there and watch you. Usually Mom would stand beside me and we'd lean on each other and just watch you. The fact that you were there with us was such a miracle. I mean, really, sometimes I think back to your birth and how tiny you were and how at first I couldn't hear your heartbeat, and then I see you toddling around the apartment or tossing blocks across the room, and it just takes my breath away. I probably shouldn't have told you that, because I really think that you'll be able to get away with almost anything because of it, and now that you know the reason, I hope you don't use it against me to get what you want. I am still your mother after all.

So, life with you was great, amazing, awesome, and all those other words I used to toss around on a daily basis. But what made it truly special was having your mom in my life. I told you yesterday what a truly amazing person she has been through all of this. But more than that, it's the little things that really always show me how much she loves me. And I hope that I've done what I could to make sure she knows how much I love her. And best of all, she just seems to really know me, more than anyone I've ever met. And she can be surprisingly thoughtful, which isn't how I think a lot of people at work would think she is, but she is.

Like yesterday for example. I had told her she had to stay home with you in the morning and not show her face until noon at the earliest. Well in she walks at noon, looking truly happy for the first time I've seen her since the crash. There were no shadows under her eyes or worries furrowing her brow. And do you know what she brought me? She had videotaped her entire morning with you, from the moment she got you up, through breakfast and your bath, and then the whole morning playing. She even left the camera on you while you took a nap and she just stood next to your crib like we so often had. There were five whole hours of video. And I greedily watched every last second. She said that since you still can't come to visit because of your cold, that at least I could see you somehow. You are so beautiful and you've gotten so big. And she's right, you are really getting fast and confident. You're amazing.

We also made a quick video of me that she was going to show you after she picked you up from daycare. I'm waiting for her to come by this morning to hear what you thought. You're still a little confused about the TV and such, so hopefully it wasn't something that freaked you out or anything. I'm just hoping you still remember me. It's been weeks since you've seen me and I don't want you to forget who I am if it's still a little while more until you can come to visit or if I'm not up to seeing you right away.

You see, I know that I'm starting the grieving process. I learned about it in medical school. There are five steps: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. People move through those steps differently, but it usually starts with denial, and I know in my logical mind that that's where I'm sitting right now. But it's only a matter of time (and like I said it could even be today), before something sends me tumbling on to the next step and the next and the next. And when that happens, there may be times, even huge chunks of time, when I can't really be your mama or Mom's wife. I know there will be times when I am just so far down or so mad that I want to push everyone I love away. That's just how it works. I wish it didn't, but it's all a part of healing. Or at least that's what we were taught in our death and dying class in school.

But no matter what happens as this journey continues, I will never stop loving you or Mom. The two of you are literally everything to me. You're my heart and my soul and don't ever forget that. I told Mom that last night, too, just in case. I wanted to make sure she had something to hold on to as I teeter on this knife's edge that is the control of my emotions. I just wish you were old enough to start to understand. Maybe it's better that you haven't seen me in so long. Probably better that than having me come back into your life and then crash right on out of it again.

I'm not saying I don't want to see you. Of course not. And I get this feeling that you will be a large part of my recovery. You and Mom will be the lights at the end of this tunnel that is stretching out before me. But as a parent I always need to think of you first, and right now, maybe things are working out just as they should for your sake. Or as well as they could. I wish nothing more than that I could be home with you tonight, snuggling you and telling you stories before bed, and then standing there with Mom and watching you sleep. And I really hope that you won't be too big before I can do that once again. Because right here, right now, I'll tell you that I'm determined to get back there, to get to as close to normal as I can get. Sure, it'll mean a prosthetic leg, and sure things will never be like they were for any of us, but someday I'll be there next to your crib or your bed watching you sleep. There may be some shadows where before there was light, but you know what? You need light to make shadows. And you and Mom will always be my light, no matter what.

So, I want to spend some time watching you sleep right now, even if it is only on video. I've only got an hour until my PT session starts and I'm dreading it with every fiber of my being. But just in case, I need your peace right now, baby girl, to help get me through this.

I love you so much.

Mama

* * *

TBC...


End file.
